Tuesday, 6 October 2015

Sanka, you dead? - Cool Runnings

October 6, 2015

The date was October 6, 2007. Australia had just been knocked out of the rugby world cup by England. Now, some slight backtracking... For a few weeks leading up to this date, I was unwell, spending most of my time in bed, sleeping, with a fever, vomiting and most other sick symptoms you can think about. However, I was too stubborn to go to the hospital, thinking it was just a bad flu or something and it will pass. Yes, I have had the flu like that before and in me, the flu can last up to a month.

This wasn't easing up and instead of it progressively improving, it was getting worse. What was different on October 6 was my middle sister came into my room and basically yelled at me (yelling doesn't motivate me, but scares me) that I really need medical treatment and to eat something. I don't remember why, but I do remember eating KFC for dinner that night, throwing it straight up, having a shower and calling a friend to take me to hospital.

Given little choice considering how unwell I was, I was taken to Royal Perth Hospital. The time here would have been about 7:30 pm. The next three hours were a bit of a blur. What I do remember is there was a mad rush around me and I had a drip in me quicker than I can say "I hate needles". As it got to about 10:30 pm, I had about five medical professionals around my bed. They all looked me in the eye and diagnosed a blood and bone infection and stated they don't believe I will live another six hours. I remember looking each of them in the eye and saying the following: Okay, thanks for your medical opinion and expertise. However, you don't have the authority to tell me when I'm going to die. Therefore, thanks but no thanks. Now if you don't mind, I'm not feeling too well and I'd like to get some sleep. See you in the morning. Their reply: Sir, you won't live until the morning. Me: We'll see.

I did live until the morning. I woke up the next morning, still feeling pretty average, but well enough to know I was supposed to have breakfast. I wasn't given any and when I asked for some, they were in genuine shock.

Over the next 182 days until April 14, 2008 when I was finally discharged, I would spend most of my time sleeping, with two drips in me going almost constantly with antibiotics and pain relief. I had to have multiple blood transfusions and for a while there, had to spend some time in absolute isolation to prevent others getting it. I had to do crazy amounts of physio and OT to get my strength back up but I made sure I did what I had to do to get better (and more some days).

Upon leaving that hospital, I felt like I was Spider-man, that nothing could stop me or squash me. I went back to bible college and managed to finish my Cert. IV in Ministry (Youth) in 2009, finishing my time there in 2010.

The infection is incurable and is still in my system. I had to go back into hospital for the first half of 2013 with the same thing, but symptomatically I didn't feel as bad as I did in 2007. I'm two years hospital admission free and hoping to keep that going as long as possible ...

Giving up is not an option,